


La Última Tentación de Héctor

by E1craZ4life



Category: Coco (2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canonical Character Death, Gen, Suicide
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-10
Updated: 2019-08-14
Packaged: 2020-06-25 15:00:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19748101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/E1craZ4life/pseuds/E1craZ4life
Summary: After my last project covering the seemingly impossible scenario of Miguel's sister Socorro visiting the Land of the Dead instead of her brother, I've decided to take up an even harder scenario to explore: what if Héctor ventured into the Land of the Dead as a cursed spirit?





	1. El Capítulo Uno

Imelda Margarita Rivera de Rivera was, by all appearances, an ordinary woman raising a young daughter. With no husband to help her. She was learning to make shoes, which she planned to sell to the residents of Santa Cecilia to secure a steady way of life for her daughter and any family that grew from her.

As a teenager, she had been the object of affection of every local man, allured by her beautiful singing voice. So it was no secret when she chose a suitable father to her future children. A songwriter and musician whose father had the same surname as her father. His name was Héctor Ricardo Rivera-Juárez. His songs were the envy of Santa Cecilia, especially when sung by his lifelong friend, Ernesto Fernández de la Cruz-Vasconcelos. With a handsome and muscular build and perfectly groomed mustache, he had boasted that no girl could ever resist his amazing charms. The only girl who hadn't swooned over him was Imelda, who opted to wed the gangly and disheveled songwriter as her husband.

Things were looking rosy for the young couple when they became parents to a beautiful baby girl. But just a week before the girl's fourth birthday, Héctor went out on a music tour with Ernesto. And although he wrote letters home to them consistently, as well as sending money collected from their venues, Imelda just couldn't stand having her husband so far away from home. If not for the letters, she didn't know what she'd think of him.

* * *

The morning of December 7, 1921 began like any other. Imelda was the first one to wake up, immediately upon which she began preparations for another day of making shoes. Business hadn't quite picked up at this point, and she was keen on making the most of the lack of attention by fine-tuning how her business would operate.

All the materials were in their proper places, as was the equipment that would be used for making the shoes. Today, she would be going around town asking the town's residents what kind of shoes they would buy from her. It would have her out of the house for almost the entire day, but she trusted her brothers would be able to cope on their own. For now.

Looking over the list she had made of all of her potential customers, she took a quick look at herself in the mirror before making her way to the front door.

She opened the door and stepped through, immediately getting a faceful of knuckles.

The surprisingly weak impact elicited no reaction from the shoemaker as she registered who had tried knocking on her door.

"Héctor?"

The man raised his head to meet his eyes with those of his wife.

Imelda recoiled as she took in the pained and sad expression on the musician's face.

" _¿Estás bien, mi amor?_ "

"No." Héctor's voice came as a ghostly whisper. "No, I'm not."

"What happened?"

"I don't know if I'm ready to talk about it."

Imelda ushered him into the house and shut the door. "Let's get into our room, and we'll take things at your own pace."

Héctor staggered into his and Imelda's room, immediately collapsing onto the bed facefirst upon reaching it and crying into the pillow covering his face.

Imelda decided to let Héctor have some peace and quiet and left him in the room.

She waited for the others to wake up before updating them on the situation and running her errands for the day.

* * *

By the time Imelda returned home, it was almost nighttime. As soon as she entered the house, she went straight to her room to talk to Héctor.

He was still on the bed where she left him, but he was faceup on the bed instead of facedown.

Imelda shut the door behind her. "So, do you want to talk about what happened?"

Héctor got up from the bed, wedged a chair against the door, and sat down in it. "Ernesto is dead."

Imelda failed to register what she had just heard. "What?"

"Ernesto killed himself in our hotel room."

"He did what?!"

"And I think I may have driven him to do it."

"H-How?"

"It's a really long story, and I don't know if you would believe me if I told you."

Imelda struggled to digest what her husband was dumping on her. "How did it happen?"

"I'll tell you, but you must promise not to tell anyone. Not your brothers, not Coco, not anyone."

" _Yo prometo_."

Héctor took a few breaths to prepare himself for his story. " _Bueno_ , it all started back on Día de los Muertos..."


	2. El Capítulo Dos

The day of Día de los Muertos, we were in Monterrey. We had already been to Toluca and San Luis Potosí, and so far the tour had been failing to live up to what Ernesto and I had envisioned. Almost all of the money we were making went to paying for tickets to the next city, and it was becoming harder and harder to send as much money home as I wanted while still getting enough food to eat, especially since Ernesto would make frequent trips to whatever drug stores and taverns were in town and get drunk and invite women to our hotel room.

It had gotten so bad that I would walk around the square playing my guitar. Just any melody that popped in my head, and if I remembered it long enough, I'd write lyrics to go with it. Sometimes, I'd get lucky with a few pesos, but only rarely.

Things took a turn for the _loco_ on Día de los Muertos.

* * *

Ernesto had returned from the bar that afternoon with yet another _chica_ for his bed. I was busy writing a new song, and I knew that Ernesto would be singing it all night to his _juguete_ of the night.

The good part was that it encouraged Ernesto to rehearse the songs we played, but the bad part was that I would get sick and tired of the newest song by morning.

"How's the new song coming, _mi amigo_?"

"You can't rush art, Ernesto."

"You always were a _perfeccionista_."

" _Sí, bueno_ , you have fun with your _chica de la noche_ , Ernesto. I'm going for a walk."

" _¿A dónde vas?_ "

"Wherever the roads lead me. I just need that burst of inspiration for my new song."

"Don't take too long, Héctor."

I pocketed my song book, slung my guitar across my back, and made my way down the streets of Monterrey.

* * *

Throughout the town, people of all ages were preparing for the night's festivities. _Papel picado_ was being draped above the streets, vendors were selling sugar skulls and alebrije figurines, and _cempazuchitl_ pedals were being scattered in the streets.

I could see people walking with young children as they shopped for what they needed for the night. I couldn't help but feel down about having been away from home for so long. I played a few tunes for the people with children, hoping to find words to put to the music.

My walk eventually took me to the cemetery. Families were gathered at nearly every grave lighting candles and laying out various delicacies for the dead. Just smelling the food made my stomach growl.

It was a painful reminder of how little money Ernesto and I were making that we could hardly afford any food.

Wandering aimlessly through the cemetery, I soon came across a grave with food and candles but no one in front of it. I sat down, got out my song book, and started playing out the melody I was trying to put words to.

Looking at the gravestone for any inscriptions that could be of help, my attention quickly became drawn to the plate of chorizo placed at the base.

The urge to eat it was becoming increasingly difficult to resist.

I checked the name on the gravestone.

_Francisco Alejandro Ramírez-Garcia: August 8, 1878 - April 9, 1915_

Something told me this man was a casualty of the Revolution.

I swallowed hard, knowing I'd sound crazy to anyone who happened to walk by me at that moment. "Eh, Señor Ramírez? I-I know you don't know me, but... m-my name is Héctor. Héctor Rivera." I glanced over my shoulder as a gentle breeze graced my shoulders. "Uh, _jejeh_ , um... m-my _amigo_ Ernesto and I are actually traveling on a music tour. We've already visited a few cities, but... we're not really making enough money to stay fed. So,..." I picked up one of the chorizos from the plate, "...i-if it's not too much to ask, if... if you could maybe spare a chorizo, just for me, I-I'd appreciate it."

Not wanting to laugh at myself for trying to ask permission from a dead person to eat something that no one else was going to eat, I brought the spicy sausage to my lips and put my teeth around it.

As soon as I sank my teeth into the meat, there was a bright flash of orange light from the pedals scattered around me, which flew up as though caught in a whirlwind.

I was left dazed as I tried to figure out what had just happened until a crowd of people started to head up to where I was, curious about what that orange glow was.

I immediately pocketed my song book, which was sitting on my lap, and ran to hide from everyone who was making their way up the hill.


	3. El Capítulo Tres

I gripped my guitar for dear life as people tried to figure out what the light they had just seen was. I made my way to the cemetery gates, but when I tried to go through them, it was as if there was an invisible wall holding me back.

As I tried to get past whatever was holding me inside, a man walked straight through me as if I was nothing but air.

And that's when I began to panic.

Nobody saw me running through the cemetery, and nobody heard me screaming.

I suddenly tripped and fell headfirst onto a raised tombstone.

As I got up, I heard a voice shout " _¡Oyé!_ Watch where you're going, _cabrón_!"

"S-Sorry, _señora_ , I--"

All words escaped me as my eyes took in the sight of a walking skeleton.

I screamed.

She screamed as well.

As I turned around and ran, I ran headlong into another skeleton.

With each step I took, more and more skeletons appeared in the cemetery.

I made it back to the cemetery gates, but I still couldn't get through.

I began banging my fists, hoping someone would hear me. " _¡Alguien! ¡Ayúdame!_ "

Still, nobody heard me.

I spun around as the skeletons converged upon me. " _¡Tengan piedad!_ "

As I braced myself for what was to come, they stopped about ten feet from where I stood.

I fought to steady my breath as I tried to process what was happening.

One skeleton, who looked to have been an 8-year-old girl, inched closer with her eyes fixed on mine.

I held my guitar in front of me for protection. "S-Stay back!"

That's when I heard Ernesto's voice from outside the cemetery.

"Héctor? Where are you?"

I turned toward the voice trying to find him, but I couldn't see him. "Ernesto!"

There was no reply from him.

I turned back around to face all the skeletons surrounding me. "Can someone please tell me what's happening?"

Only the skeleton girl responded. "I know what's going on here."

"Tell me!"

She waved me back to the cemetery. "Follow me."

The crowd split apart, and the girl led me through as if she were Moses crossing the Red Sea.

"Where are we going?"

"You'll see."

She led me to the back of the cemetery, where I was greeted by the sight of what looked to be a bridge made entirely out of _cempazuchitl_ pedals with skeletons walking back and forth across it as if it were made of solid stone. The bridge arched off into a dense purple fog, and I couldn't see what was on the other side.

The girl could sense my uneasiness. "It's alright; just stay behind me."

As I neared the foot of the bridge, I noticed that the skeletons stepping between the bridge and the grass seemed to be passing through an invisible wall that made them ghosts on one side and solid on the other side.

As I stepped through it, my hands became opaque once more.

I followed the girl over the bridge, amazed that a bridge made entirely out of flower pedals was able to support my weight.

She only paused when I asked her "What's your name, if I might ask?"

"My name is Graciela."

"I'm Héctor."

"Alright, let's keep moving."

I looked over my shoulder, seeing the cemetery disappear in the fog.

I turned back around to Graciela. "So, where exactly are we... going...?"

All words escaped me as the fog ahead of me lifted to reveal a sea of lights.

There were buildings upon buildings stacked on top of one another in ways I thought impossible. They were full of colors and different shapes, and they extended so high that I couldn't see the tops.

I finally got a hold of myself and continued to follow Graciela. "What is this place?"

"This is the Land of the Dead."

I was taken aback. "The Land of the Dead?"

" _Sí._ "

"So, this is where people go after they die?"

"In México."

I tried to ignore the startled gawks that other skeletons were giving me. "What exactly are we doing here?"

"I'll explain."

We joined the queue of skeletons returning from the living world, and I watched as other skeletons emerged to cross the bridge. Uniformed workers searched through enormous books before allowing them to cross.

One skeleton, a female about your age, got a head shake from the worker who searched her in his book.

Instead of turning back around, she jumped over the rope blocking her path and ran for the bridge.

As she reached the bridge, though, she began sinking through the pedals as if they were quicksand.

Two officers pulled her out and dragged her back through the gate.

As she disappeared from view, Graciela pulled me forward.

The clerk looked up from his own book. "Welcome back, amigos. Anything to decl--"

His jaw detached from his face as a mustered a nervous "Hola."


	4. El Capítulo Cuatro

I sighed as Graciela followed a police officer through the station. "This is so embarrassing."

" _Bueno_ , it's not every day that a living spirit finds their way into the Land of the Dead."

"How did I even get here?"

"That's what we're trying to figure out."

The three of us went into a hallway labeled " _La Policía_ ", where we were seated in a candlelit office.

The officer sat down at a desk across from us. "What's your name, _señor_?"

"Uh, Héctor. Héctor Rivera."

The officer began searching through a stack of parchment sheets on his desk.

As he did so, Graciela stole a glance in my direction as if she wanted to ask me something.

She didn't get the chance to do so before the officer found what he was looking for. "Ah. Here we are." He pulled out a piece of parchment from the stack.

"What's the situation, _señor_?"

" _Bueno_ ,... you're cursed."

"Cursed?"

"El Día de Muertos is a day to give to the dead, and you stole from the dead."

"But I wasn't stealing the chorizo! I did ask, and I only took one! There were five more pieces on that plate afterward!"

Graciela put a word in. "Did they say you could take it?"

"No, but - - "

"Then that's stealing."

I shook my head to clear my thoughts. "Okay. Okay okay. So,... how am I supposed to get back home?"

" _Veamos_..." The officer open a large book on the desk.

"Does everyone carry giant books with them in the Land of the Dead?" I whispered to Graciela.

"Just in offices and work stations," she whispered back.

"Ah, here we are." The officer found the page he wanted and started reading from it. "First, we need to find the person you stole from or someone in their family."

"Won't they be out doing whatever it is the dead do on this night?"

"Most likely. We'll just have agents search the Land of the Living and the Land of the Dead for whoever we need."

Graciela peeked at the book. "So, what do we do once we find them?"

"Once we find who we're looking for, they just need to give you their blessing, and everything should go back to normal."

"That's it?"

"Sí. But you need to get it before sunrise."

"What happens at sunrise?"

"Um... Héctor?" Graciela pointed to my hand.

When I looked, I saw that the bones on one of my fingertips were exposed.

Stifling a scream, I bent the finger before starting to gray out.

My head hit the desk, and Graciela rushed to shake me awake. " _¡Oyé!_ Don't faint on us, _chico_."

I shook my head to compose myself. "So, I need to get a blessing by sunrise, or I'll be stuck here forever?"

"More or less." The officer walked over to a printing press in the back room. "Anyway, I just need the name of whoever you stole from, and then we can have officers search for them or someone in their _familia_."

Graciela answered in my place. "Francisco Alejandro Ramírez-Garcia."

The officer got to work preparing the printing press. " _Gracias._ "

I sat down and checked to see that my guitar was still in tune. "So, what should we do while we're waiting for him to be found?"

"Just wait here until we find him." The officer began printing flyers with the press.

I paused mid-strum. "Just sit here and do _nada a todos_?"

"There's not much for the living to do here."

I heaved a sigh and continued playing my guitar.

At that moment, I heard voices on the other side of the door.

"I'm telling you, there was a man on that bridge who I knew! There must be someone there who has an _ofrenda_ for me!"

" _Señora_ , the books are updated constantly; no one has an _ofrenda_ for you in the Land of the Living."

I opened the door to see who was talking.

"I knew one of those people waiting to get back in!" A woman who was being led down the hall by a female officer caught sight of me. "There he is!"

The officer sighed as she glanced over her shoulder. " _Señora_ , we'll let you know if--" the officer did a double take as she realized I was still alive, " _¡Dios santo!_ "

The officer that was with me emerged into the hall. "Ah, Maria. We're looking for a Francisco Alejandro Ramírez-Garcia. I have flyers printing on the press, so if you could distribute them when they are finished printing after you're done with your current task."

" _S-Sí_ , Javier."

" _Gracias_."

I took a look at the woman being escorted by Maria. "Have we met before?"

The woman took a slight breath. "Is your name Héctor Rivera?"


	5. El Capítulo Cinco

I struggled to match the face in front of me to anyone I knew, but the trouble in doing so had nothing to do with the fact that the woman was literally nothing but bones. "Who are you, and how do you know me?"

"My husband told me our daughter married a musician named Héctor Rivera. He was very tall, thin as a fence post, and had messy black hair with a small patch of hair on his chin, large ears, and a bulky nose."

I slowly processed what she told me. "Wait... are you Imelda's mother?"

" _Sí_. My name is Patricia Sofia Valéncia de Garcia."

I shook her hand, accidentally taking it off in the process. " _¡Uy!_ _¡Perdóname!_ "

"You're fine." She stuck her arm back where it was before.

"So, was that you who tried to cross the bridge but fell through?"

" _Sí_. I saw you crossing in, so I thought perhaps you and Imelda were living in Monterrey and had made an _ofrenda_ for me there."

"No, Imelda and I still live in Santa Cecilia. I'm actually on a music tour with my best friend, Ernesto de la Cruz; we just happen to be touring in Monterrey tonight."

"How long have you been on the road?"

"At least three months. We've hit a large number of cities, but so far, we haven't been getting what we expected from touring. We're barely making enough to stay fed."

"How's Imelda?"

"Last I saw, she was learning to make shoes. I really hope she's having better luck than me."

"What has she told you about me?"

" _Bueno_ , she told me that you died giving birth to her brothers, but not much more beyond that. Her father didn't seem to want to talk about you."

The news seemed to worry her. "But she does know a lot about me."

"What makes you say that?"

"You see, Héctor, the Land of the Dead runs on memories. Everyone you see in this realm is here because there are people in the living world who remember them and tell their stories."

"And Imelda is the only person alive that remembers you?"

Graciela had been listening in on us. "When there's no one left in the living world who remembers you, you disappear from this world."

"What do you mean 'disappear'?"

"Your bones glow like burning logs and crumble to dust. We call it the Final Death."

"So, the moment Imelda is gone from the living world,..."

"...you'll disappear from this one." I realized what was going through her head. "Is that why you're so desperate to cross that flower bridge?"

"Any bridge that will let me see my daughter."

"There's more than one?"

Graciela nodded. "There are bridges going to every city in México."

I looked to Patricia. "So, why were you trying to cross the Monterrey bridge if your family lives in Santa Cecilia?"

"Graciela had an _ofrenda_ in Monterrey, so I assumed that someone there would have made one for me."

" _Eso no tiene sentido_."

Officer Javier had finished printing the flyers and gave them to Officer Maria. "Now, let's distribute these and try to find this man or his family."

"What should we do with Patricia?"

Officer Javier pondered a moment. " _Bueno_ , the next shift should be returning shortly, and our shift is almost over. So, we'll let her off with a warning."

With that, Maria wrote out a warning for Patricia and left with Javier.

As soon as they were gone, I resumed the discussion. "So, how long have you been here, Graciela?"

"Seventeen years."

"Hm. You don't look that old to me."

"That's because I was eight years old when I died."

"Ah. _Lo siento_."

Patricia nodded. "It's always unfortunate to see children in the Land of the Dead."

" _Siempre_. I don't know what I'd do if Coco died before she could grow up."

"Who's Coco?"

"My daughter."

"Ah, you're a father now?"

"For four years now."

"And how's it going so far?"

" _Bueno_ , my time as a father has been the happiest time of my life. She's such an _angelita dulcita_."

"Do you miss her while you're out touring?"

"Every day since I left."

"How long are you planning on touring?"

"I only wanted to do one city, but Ernesto kept adding cities to the tour."

"Where else have you been?"

"Toluca and San Luis Potosí. And he has us booked for México City after this. So far, it hasn't paid off that much; I have enough money to send home to my girls, but it doesn't leave me much more than enough to buy tickets to the next city."

"And you were so hungry that you decided to eat a chorizo off a grave on Día de los Muertos?"

"How was I supposed to know I'd be cursed for it?" That's when a thought occurred to me. " _Espera_... maybe we can look for the man whose grave that was ourselves?"

Graciela was stupefied. "Has that curse gotten to your head?!"


End file.
